


Watch

by Jennie_D



Category: (not really a Doctor Who fic it's just referenced as media), Doctor Who (2005), Watchmen (TV), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Doctor Who exists in this but only as a piece of media, Episode s01e07: An Almost Religious Awe, Episode: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, F/M, Not as a real character, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: Cal sits down to watch TV with his son.He finds it oddly compelling.Spoilers for Watchmen Season 1, Episode 7 "An Almost Religious Awe"
Relationships: Angela Abar | Sister Night/Cal Abar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Watch

**Author's Note:**

> This is...incredibly self indulgent. Basically I watched "An Almost Religious Awe" and was reminded of an old Doctor Who episode.
> 
> And I just feel really really heartsick for both Angela and Cal.

Cal looked at the clock. Three minutes till seven.

He sighed and stood, grabbed the cellophane from the corner drawer. Began to put the food away. 

Dinners without Angela were lonely.

Cal had steadily served chicken and macaroni himself, stopped the girls from throwing food at each other, even convinced Topher to nearly clean his plate. And he’d do it again, every night, happily. 

He just wished occasionally Angela would come home when the food was still lukewarm. It was hard not to worry. 

Hell, after all they’d been through, it was impossible not to worry.

Cal knew his wife’s job was important. She needed to be out there with Tulsa PD, making sure the white supremacists from the 7th Cavalry were brought to justice. Rosie and Emma still had nightmares about the night their biological parents died. Cal suspected Topher did too, but wanted to seem strong for his sisters. And Cal would be lying to himself if he claimed he didn’t occasionally picture Angela as she’d been that night, shot and bleeding on the floor. 

It was incredible that they’d both made it out alive. Cal didn’t believe in miracles, and hated to use the word, even in his own mind. But there was no other way to describe their survival. 

He sighed. It was no use thinking of such dark things so early in the evening. If he did, he’d just worry Angela was lying hurt somewhere. She was likely just at the office with a heavy caseload. Cal would save the real concern for if she was gone past midnight.

There was no way to fit the full pan of macaroni in the fridge. He’d have to dish it into a smaller container. 

As he was hunting around the cabinets, he heard a small voice say, “Cal?”

He looked up. 

Topher was padding down the stairs, a VHS clutched in his hand. 

“I finished my homework and brushed my teeth. I was wondering if I could watch Doctor Who for a bit?”

He smiled. “Of course, Topher. I’ll be right in.”

Topher smiled. “Thanks, Cal.”

He turned and walked to the living room, popping the tape in the VCR.

It worried Cal that Topher still asked so politely if he could watch TV every night. It worried him that Topher still seemed to walk on eggshells in his own house. It even worried him that Topher still called him “Cal.”

They obviously did not want to push him. They didn’t know when he’d finally see this house as home, when he’d finally see them as “mom” and “dad.” Emma and Rosie had started calling them that months ago. But Topher was older. He needed more time, and that was fine.

But Angela was better with him. Cal worried he just couldn’t quite connect. 

Still, after finishing putting dinner away and cleaning off the kitchen counter, he headed into the living room to try.

Cal generally preferred books to television. Television was too passive, gave his mind too much time to wander. And this particular program was not exactly to his taste. It was a bit...out there for him. And the science was always completely bizarre. 

But it was one of Topher’s favorites. He was always thrilled when new seasons on tape became available at the video store or the library. 

So Cal would watch it with him. Would listen as Topher occasionally told him facts about the show. “Cal, did you know this first started in 1963? Cal, did you there's over 500 episodes? Cal, did you know there were no new seasons for 20 years after New York happened cause they thought people would be too scared of aliens?”

The episode was already in progress when Cal came in. “What’s the Doc up to this time, kiddo?”

Topher shrugged. “I’m not really sure. He and Martha are at this school in the 1900’s or something, but he’s acting like he doesn’t know her.”

It was a bit cold in the living room. He needed to remind himself to talk to Angela about getting the heater looked at.

Cal tossed a fleece blanket to Topher. His son rolled his eyes a bit, but put it over his lap. 

"Hey Cal, did you know that some people think this show is supposed to really be about Dr. Manhattan?"

He hummed. "Really? How?"

"I mean, it's about an immortal being called doctor, and he perfectly understands time and space. It's kind of obvious, right? And there's all these episodes that people say are like critical of what Doctor Manhattan did in Vietnam and stuff. He's symbolic or whatever."

"Didn't you just tell your English teacher you thought symbolism was boring?"

Topher scoffed. "That's not the same at all."

Cal smiled. "Why do you think they brought the show back long after Dr. Manhattan disappeared?"

"I don't know. Probably cause it's a good show."

Topher seemed to be done with questions, wanted to get back to the story. Cal turned towards the screen. It was blurry. “Have you seen my glasses?”

“They're on the mantle.”

He looked over. Could make out his glasses just there on the edge.

Cal walked over, put them on. Sat heavily on the couch. 

Much clearer.

“Thanks kiddo.”

Topher sent him a brief smile, then quickly turned back to the screen. 

Maybe he was letting Topher watch too much tv. He’d always imagined that if he had children, he’d try to encourage their participation in the arts or sciences. Would teach them to do something with their hands.

But Topher cared about this. And Cal wouldn’t be the one to take anything else away from him. 

So he watched the show. Well, truthfully, he was watching Topher more than the show itself. His enthusiasm for it was infectious.

One of the episode’s villains made a racist comment. Cal glanced over at Topher, was gratified to see he looked rightfully pissed off by it.

His son was developing a good sense of right and wrong, a sense of justice. That was good, essential. The world, after all, could be cruel. 

In his minds eye, he saw a six pointed star painted harshly above a run down shop.

Cal shook off this intrusive thought. 

A boy on the screen was looking at a pocketwatch filled with a strange glowing light. 

It was a beautiful prop, the watch. Though not quite period appropriate for the setting. Slightly too new, probably from about 1923. An Elgin maybe. Silver casing. He wondered if the gears were silver too.

He couldn’t say. Cal didn’t know anything about watches. 

“Cal?”

He looked over to where his son sat, bathed in the screen’s blue light. “What’s up?”

“I just asked if we could watch the next episode.”

“Oh. Sure. But it’s bedtime right after that.”

Topher rolled his eyes.

“Don’t give me that kiddo, it’s getting late.”

“Sorry, I know. Can I start?”

Cal nodded.

Topher pressed play on the remote. The VCR whirred.

“Actually, could you give me a quick summary of what happened in the episode? I think I fell asleep there for the last few minutes. Want to make sure I’m not lost.”

He pressed stop again, looked at Cal a bit accusingly. “If you think it’s boring, you don’t have to-”

“I don’t think it’s boring. I’m just an old man, get tired too easily.”

Topher seemed to accept this. “Well, the Doctor and Martha are hiding from these aliens, so the Doctor made himself human so they couldn’t find him. He hid his real self inside this watch, and has to open it to turn back. But there’s this nurse he’s falling in love with. And the Doctor thinks he’s just a regular guy named John Smith, he doesn’t remember that he’s the Doctor at all.”

A chill travelled down Cal’s spine. He really needed to get that heater fixed.

Topher pressed play. 

Cal tried to get invested in the plot. He felt oddly restless. He needed a distraction.

The show was easy to get lost in. 

This Doctor, or John Smith he supposed, was growing ever more panicky as the story progressed, as it became clearer and clearer his life was a lie. As people told him he was a lie.

_When you were a child, where did you play? All those secret little places, the dens and hideaways that only a child knows?_

Cal didn’t remember being a child. Didn’t remember watching tv with his father, when he was Topher’s age. That was all gone. Gone with everything else before the old accident. The accident from before everything, the accident from years and years ago. The accident that left him with no memory, no past. The accident he and Angela never talked about. 

The scene switched to something about British schoolboys preparing for a battle, and Cal found himself relieved at the alienness of it.

The little people on the screen fought with guns and lasers. It was a bit more violent than Cal would have liked for Topher, but it was ridiculous and absurd and comforting.

Then the villains started bombing a village, bombshells raining down around little ramshackle houses.

He’d seen shelling like this somewhere before. He remembered the whistling, the screams.

Cal was too young to have seen war.

Hmm, perhaps Adrian's device was slipping. 

He didn't know anyone named Adrian.

The characters were panicking, running about in circles.

_Why can't I stay?_

_We need the Doctor._

_What am I, then? Nothing?_

Cal’s hands were shaking. There was an odd sense of fearfulness clenching in his gut. He didn’t know why this was affecting him so much. After all, he didn’t feel fear.

What? No. Of course he felt fear. Everyone felt fear.

The light of the screen was bright, too bright. It stung at his eyes. TV always stung at his eyes, stung at his mind. Like when he'd watch the news. He'd see those images of Dr. Manhattan on Mars, and part of him would think, that's a lie. 

_I was so scared of the Doctor._

_Why?_

_Because I've seen him. He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe._

It would be an awful fate. To see all of time. To have everything be preordained. To understand that it was too late. That it always has been, always will be too late.

His skin felt tight.

_Falling in love? That didn't even occur to him? What sort of man is that?_

Somewhere there was a woman speaking to him in a disbelieving voice, asking him if human life meant more to him than stones and rubble.

He thinks he answered “No.”

When you could see the ancient spectacle that birthed the rubble, human life seemed brief and mundane.

Earth was being formed in an immense swirl of dust.

The John on the screen was sobbing.

_So your job was to execute me._

Angela was out on the job, but she was also standing over in the dark kitchen nineteen months from now, hammer in hand. In a moment, there would be blood all over the floor as his skull caved in.

The watch was on screen. A watch filled with glowing light. Light that would take him to pieces. 

He wondered if Jon would reassemble the components in the right order.

Electricity was running over his arms, giving him goosebumps, making his hair stand on end.

He was afraid.

_What must I look like to you, Doctor? I must seem so very small._

That was the woman Jon loved. She was wrong. He could still love. Could love deeply. Despite his infinity. Of course he could.

But was it really the same? Was it human?

_If the Doctor had never chosen this place, would anybody here have died?_

Well, it made no difference structurally. After all, a living body and a dead body had the-

No. No that was wrong. That was an older him. He knew there was a difference. That was why on the night Angela was attacked by the 7th Cavalry and lie bleeding on the floor close to death, in a moment of clarity and atomic perfection, he had reached out and-

Cal stood up quickly, breathing hard.

No. No, he’d done nothing when Angela lie bleeding on the floor, there was no Angela with a hammer in hand, no screams and whistling bombs, no woman asking about his meaning of life. He didn’t know the flow of time, didn’t know what canyons looked like on the surface of Mars.

He started to move. Somewhere, anywhere. His glasses fell to the ground, broke. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need them.

He ran up the stairs, a voice calling after him, one of thousands sounding in his skull. He shut himself in the bathroom.

He sat on the floor, eyes shut, letting the cold of the tile sink into his skin, clenching his fists till his nails drew blood on his palms, reminding himself he was flesh and blood and bone.

He couldn't open his eyes. If he did, he knew would see the atoms swirling around him.

Would get lost in the perfection of their structure. 

He listened to the too fast beat of his heart and the harsh gasps of his breath and they were so loud and he needed, needed to hear them. 

Cal felt he was holding something back, felt dead with the effort of it. There was a light, an endless cosmic shining light, and if he let himself fall into it he’d never come home.

He sat there for one hour, seven minutes, and forty three seconds before he heard the door to the bathroom open. Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes. Looked up.

Angela was there.

“Did you run off and leave Topher alone? I just got him to bed. He was worried when I got home.”

He just looked at her. Needed to look at her. Needed to see her as she was right now.

“Cal?”

She moved towards him.

“I am Cal. Aren’t I?” he whispered.

The look on her face shifted. She sat down in front of him, took his hands in her own. Looked into his eyes.

She smiled. 

“Of course you are.”

The light receded. 

He started to sob. He didn’t know why.

Angela put her arms around him and stroked the back of his head and hushed him. She whispered to him, soothing words he didn’t quite grasp the meaning of.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. I’m here. Just go back in the tunnel baby. It’s alright.”

Soon, he wasn’t quite sure how long, but soon, he felt safe. Felt better. Honestly felt incredibly foolish crying in a bathroom because...what? Because a children’s tv show had scared him?

He pulled back a bit. Shook his head sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why-”

“It’s okay, baby. Really.”

Cal smiled. He looked at his wife, hair loose and messy, eyes kind and perfect. And he knew he had to say it.

“I love you," he insisted, squeezing her hands tight. "I do. I love being your husband, being the father to your children. I love every single bit of our life together.”

Her eyes were warm. She drew him into a hug. Whispered into his ears. 

“I love you too. So, so much. Our time together means everything to me.”

Cal pulled Angela into a kiss. Her hands clung to his upper arms desperately. When they pulled back, there were teardrops at the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, laughed a little. “I don't know. Been a weirdly emotional night.” 

He dropped his head smiling, put a sheepish hand to the back of his neck. “Guess we better go to bed before we turn into a soap opera.”

Angela hummed in agreement.

They stood. Cal groaned a bit, rubbing at the knot in the middle of his back.

His reflection in the bathroom mirror was blurry.

“Damn, I think I dropped my glasses.”

Angela hushed him. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

They prepared for bed quickly, sank underneath the covers. It felt so right to be next to her, warm and comfortable and safe. 

The light from the bedside clock was dim.

His breathing evened out.

Angela sighed in the dark. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Cal was already asleep.


End file.
